


fire & gasoline

by Redburn



Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blood, Frottage, M/M, Recreational Drug Use, Shotgunning, Violence, probably fluffier than it sounds, rowdy boys in love, the losers make appearances, they're gross okay?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-22
Updated: 2018-02-22
Packaged: 2019-03-22 02:29:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13754367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Redburn/pseuds/Redburn
Summary: It was obvious to anyone that Bill and Richie tend to land themselves into more trouble than most.So when you put the two together? It goes up in flames.





	fire & gasoline

**Author's Note:**

> so this is based off a short post I made over on tumblr [here](http://edsbrak.tumblr.com/post/171076628635/when-richie-and-bill-get-together-the-rest-of-the) and a lot of people liked it so I extended it into this mess you see before you here today, lmao!  
> there's some nsfw stuff at the end, but they're 18 at that point, I guess *shrugs*  
> enjoy!

Bill and Richie together is like mixing fire with gasoline.

If you spoke to any other member of the Losers club, they would, undoubtedly, have a story (or seven) to tell about how often Bill and Richie would get into trouble on a daily basis. Typical; they were teenagers after all, the rowdiest, most stubborn set of boys you might ever meet.

It was unspoken knowledge that Richie tended to understand Bill the best, and vice versa. Granted, they had known each other the longest, and in a way, Richie’s outspoken nature had almost become like an outlet for Bill’s speech impediment.

How many times has Richie been told by his parents that one day he’ll settle down with a nice girl, sitting side by side with her in front of the fire to escape the winter snap, doing the crossword together as their children play happily at their feet. Richie never quite saw the appeal; it was a vision too gentle, too simple for whatever big plans he had set out for himself since he’d first picked up that toy microphone in his aunt’s house when he was four years old.

As for Bill, now being the Denbrough’s only son had taken a large toll. Of course they wanted grandchildren; of course they wanted to enforce a picturesque standard of living – white picket fence, Thanksgiving dinners, Christmas at the grandparents. It was a lifestyle that grew increasingly foreign to Bill, like a fantasy only obtainable in his dreams. Who would be capable of loving someone as broken down as him, anyway?

As it turns out, Richie gave absolutely no fucks about the issue.

He proves this one afternoon as they’re walking home together after a long day of school. Bill is talking about college applications, the nerves of it all causing his stutter to increase tenfold. Richie is quieter than usual, repeatedly kicking at a lone stone as they amble up a small incline.

“Wh-what about you, Rich?” Bill asks him.

“What?”

“College,” Bill rectifies. Richie appears to shrug next to him. He shoves his arm up underneath his shirt, scratching at something, and Bill’s gaze gets caught on the pale skin exposed near his underwear. “Y-you don’t want to go to c-college?”

Richie stops, looking to the sky. He’s been doing that a lot more recently. “And succumb to the man once again? Playing by their rules? Fuck that shit.”

Half the time Bill is never quite sure what Richie is talking about, but he thinks he might love Richie more for it.

“Okay,” he laughs. He starts to walk ahead again, but doesn’t hear Richie follow him. Bill turns to give him a questioning look.

Richie’s face has gone serious. It doesn’t happen all that often, and Bill is instantly curious to hear what his friend is going to say next. Only Richie doesn’t say anything, instead he marches forward, cups Bill’s face in his large hands, and hauls him in for a kiss.

Bill’s heart does a full on summersault in his chest.

Bill’s mouth had been open, so their teeth clash hard. There’s perhaps too much spit for this to be seen as pleasant, and Richie’s glasses continue to poke irritably into Bill’s face.

None of this stops him from kissing back just as hard, though.

When Richie pushes closer, Bill stumbles back, and his foot hits the side of the curb and they go falling back onto a small patch of dying grass. Neither of them break the connection, and it fucking hurts, his back curving unnaturally to accommodate his backpack, but Bill has not once ever felt a thrill like this his entire life. Richie pulls away every so often, sucking in breaths before reclaiming Bill’s lips as if he might disappear. Bill finally touches him back, first digging into Richie’s hips until his desires reach a boiling point and he snakes them up Richie’s stomach currently pulled taut with arousal and tension.

Bill whimpers into Richie’s open mouth.

Eventually, they separate. A trail of spit breaks when they pull back; Richie’s eyes are almost black, his hot breath panting out between them. Bill shifts under him, suddenly aware of how tight his pants have become.

“ _Damn_ , Denbrough,” Richie finally breathes out.

“Y-you always go around kissing your fr-friends like that?” Bill rasps. One of Richie’s knees move to slot between Bill’s legs, and Bill has to swallow a moan.

“Only the ones I like,” Richie says. Bill’s heart performs its own unique stutter.

“Oh.”

Richie’s hands slip out of Bill’s now messy hair, and he sits back, right on Bill’s boner. Bill lets his head fall back into the scratchy grass as he tries to regain his composure.

“You’re a fucking _mess_ , Denbrough,” Bill can _hear_ the grin in Richie’s voice.

“Well whose fucking f-fault is that?” Bill says, unable to think of something better.

Richie stands up, and the relief is instant, until it isn’t again. He holds out a hand for Bill to take, so Bill does, and together they continue the walk to Richie’s house, pants uncomfortable and grins on full display.

*

The rest of the Losers all have different reactions for when it’s revealed Bill and Richie are now a… _thing_.

Mike is supportive, as he usually is about everything, although he expresses his concerns about keeping it hidden from the less-than-open-minded. Bev is surprised; perhaps she had still been curious about Bill’s intentions towards her, which Bill didn’t blame her for. Ben and Stan didn’t have much to say, only that they hope for them to keep the PDA to a minimum. Eddie went off on a rave, already listing off every homosexually transmitted disease his mother had lectured him on as soon as he was old enough to understand. He stopped when Richie had leaned forward for a kiss, shrieking petulantly. 

What Bill found funny was how little their group dynamic changed because of it.

Sure, Bill would now take his time admiring Richie’s back when they stripped down at the quarry. He’d get stuck looking at the droplets falling from his black locks after he’d resurface in the water. That is until the illusion would shatter and Richie would spout some crude ass joke before jumping on Bill, almost to the point of drowning him.

Bill was glad for it, almost.

A thing as big as suddenly dating one of your best friends was potentially damaging territory. Although, he corrects himself, they never said the word ‘dating’, nor ‘boyfriend’. They were just… _Bill and Richie_ , as they always had been, maybe, he realizes one day.

Richie sneaks up on him under the water, tickling his sides and causing a knee-jerk reaction from Bill. The others were a bit further out, and Richie took the opportunity to wrap his long legs around Bill’s waist as they float there in the water together. Bill cups Richie’s ass, and Richie pushes the wet strands of hair out of Bill’s eyes. Bill’s thoughts are halfway between _unfamiliar_ and _intimate_ , but it’s all ruined the minute Richie starts to take a leak.

Bill freezes. “Are you… _peeing_ on me r-right now?”

“Yup,” Richie grins. “It’s one of my new rights. You have to love me no matter what.”

Bill releases him instantly, wondering if it’s too late to reconsider everything. Richie cackles manically as Bill storms off as fast as he can in the water, calling out to him in a poor effort to make peace.

“I don’t know what else you expected,” Stan says wisely when Bill is close enough to hear. Bill closes his eyes, as if in great pain.

“I hope a turtle bites at his toes,” Bill mumbles. Richie has cornered his next target, closing in on Eddie as the smaller boy tries desperately to swim away. It’s fruitless, obviously, and dammit, Bill can’t help but feel enamored as he watches on.

*

There weren’t many months left of senior year for Bill and Richie to build up a reputation of being _that couple_ at school. Although it was moot, anyway, considering they weren’t ready to even show themselves being _that couple_ to a school full of ignorants _._

Still, it never stopped Richie from making lewd gestures to Bill right there in the hallways.

Bill would often times be walking towards where Richie and Stan’s lockers were, and Richie would see him coming and greet him by holding up a peace sign around his mouth and licking through it eagerly. Other times, if he knew Bill was watching him, he would adjust his pants not-so-subtly, hiking up one leg to rest a foot behind him on the wall to widen his stance. His most favourite gesture at the moment was hollowing his cheeks as he moves up and down an invisible dick.

Bill would fix him with a glare and repeat the action back to him 65% of the time, followed immediately by snapping the dick in half. It only ever egged Richie on, eyes shining brightly.

One time in English class Richie had taken a seat two rows behind him, and Bill would turn around occasionally to see him scribbling wildly on his paper in a way Bill knew wasn’t him taking down the notes Mr. Zeigler was saying.

Then, a ball of paper hit the back of his head, and Bill goes to pick it up where it bounced to the floor. He opens it and has to smother a laugh instantly. Inside is a doodle of the two of them as stick figures, each with massively drawn on dicks as they appear to jerk each other off.

Bill doesn’t notice when Mr. Zeigler walks past him, and from there, it’s an instant after school detention. Bill doesn’t bother ratting Richie out along with him, figuring Richie will do something else before the day is over to land himself detention as well.

As he’s not wrong; Richie joins him in room 3A after having sworn at his mathematics teacher while insisting Bill Clinton should have chosen a song from Black Sabbath’s discography instead of Fleetwood Mac’s. Bill isn’t surprised.

Mrs. Collins, a rather large lady who sits disinterestedly at the front to oversee the abundantly crowded room of detentionees, pays no mind to Richie as he leans over to whisper into Bill’s ear.

“Wanna ditch this joint and go smoke an _actual_ joint?” Richie asks him.

“How?” Bill says. There’s only one door in and out of here.

“I’ll sway her with my irresistible charm, obviously,” Richie says as he stands up. He stops at one side of Mrs. Collins desk, obscuring her view so Bill can slip out of his chair and sneak towards the door. As the lock clicks open, Richie slams his hands on her desk to cover up the noise.

“Mrs. Collins, have I ever told you you must have been a real treat to look at back in your youth?”

Bill smothers the bark of laughter that escapes him. He doesn’t hear the rest, escaping out the door as Mrs. Collins releases a spew of indignations. Richie isn’t too far behind him, his long legs catching up quickly as they laugh hysterically, speeding off down the halls and out to freedom. They head over to the bleachers, catching their breaths as they lean against the banisters. Richie’s head is angled back, chin out and teeth showing. Bill wants to bite his neck.

And then Richie reaches into his backpack and pulls out a clear baggie, a joint resting neatly inside. He lights it up, coughing after he takes the first drag, and Bill wants to give him shit for never being able to achieve the ‘bad boy’ stereotype look that comes with it.

“Y-you’re ridiculous,” Bill huffs. Richie steps away from the post, walking over until their faces are only inches apart.

“Open up, Big Bill,” Richie murmurs, probably in an attempt to appear sexy, but his voice is gruff and there’s somehow Cheeto dust still in his hair from lunch. Bill opens up anyway, eyes lidded as he waits.

Richie takes another drag, smudged, inky fingers hovering between them, and then he moves forward to release the hit slowly into Bill’s parted mouth. Bill clutches at the front of Richie’s shirt, keeping him steady as he attempts to swallow down as much smoke as he can. Richie’s thumb and forefinger catch Bill’s chin, lifting his head up slightly, and Richie’s lips graze over Bill’s lips teasingly, and Bill feels tingles run pleasantly across his entire body.

When he needs to exhale, the smoke disappears up and around them, blanketing them in a hazy cloud, and Bill wastes no more time in bringing Richie in to slot their mouths together hungrily. Richie presses his entire body up against him, crowding him, suffocating in the most addicting way. Bill grunts, and Richie practically shoves his tongue down Bill’s throat.

They have to pull back when they remember the still lit joint between them, and then they have to run away when a groundskeeper spots them and starts calling out for them to _get back here you no good delinquents_.

Richie flips the guy off as they run, hair wild in the wind and cheeks flushed, and Bill laughs, doing the same.

*

Richie likes to mess with people, a fact Bill was sure would always ring true. He likes to call them names, to insult them and piss them off, always greedy for the attention it got him even if it resulted in getting punched—

—which is what happens one day closer to their graduation.

After much deliberation and apprehensions from their folks, Richie and Bill had both agreed to attend college on the west coast. Bill knew Richie would thrive there, and getting away from his parents had begun to look like the most appealing option in Bill’s eyes. It was an easy decision, in the end, and despite Richie’s many claims he would never attend school again, the moment Bill had suggested it he was on board.

They were excited; they were _ready_.

_“I’m telling you, Big Bill, people over there are much more accepting of people like us,” Richie had claimed a while back._

_“What?” Bill had said. “They all fought against a k-killer hungry demon clown when they were y-younger?”_

_“Damn, Denbrough,” Richie had laughed. “I thought_ I _was the one who always ruined the mood?”_

Bill was leaning against the wall of the Aladdin, waiting on Richie to meet him for some of their last games of Street Fighter. He was late, which wasn’t out of the ordinary, but when that lateness ticked over to 30 minutes, Bill knew something must have happened.

So he mounts his bike, already riding down the main streets as he tries to spot Richie in the crowds.

He peddles further out, scouting Richie’s typical route from home and coming up to the old tire yard at the corner of his street. He spots Richie’s bike on the ground, surrounded by several others which didn’t belong to the Losers.

Bill curses, dropping his bike carelessly as he slips in through the clipped barbed wire and follows the sounds of what appears to be a group of boys who graduated last year, all crowded around Richie as one of them steps forward to punch Richie square on the nose.

“F-fuck,” Bill mumbles, jogging over and drawing attention to himself. “Y-you call this a fair fight?” he demands. Several heads turn to him, including Richie’s own panicked expression.

“Ah, stuttering Bill,” the one currently clutching Richie’s shirt, Darren, sneers.

“Bill, you idiot,” Richie grimaces. Bill pointedly doesn’t comment on how much better that insult would suite Richie instead. Bill clenches up his fists when two others inch closer.

“This’ll be fun,” another says, and then just like that Bill is swinging for his life.

He wouldn’t argue that he’s any good at fighting. None of the Losers are, really. Richie can hold his own for a while, maybe, but it’s always his ego that becomes his downfall in the end.

So Bill aims to hit one of them, missing slightly and getting a sharp kick to his side in return. One boy circles around Richie to lock his arms behind his back, and Richie struggles greatly, taking the brunt of Darren’s punches as one after another land on his face, eventually knocking his glasses right off.

Bill wants to help him, he really does, but with two more of them tag-teaming him, it’s hard to find a moment to break free. One trips him at his feet, sending him crashing forward, and a waiting knee finds its way to his face and lands sharply on his mouth. Bill hopes to god the distant crack he hears isn’t a tooth splitting in half.

“This’ll teach you to keep your mouth shut, four-eyes,” Darren spits before punching Richie once again.

Richie sees an opening and kicks up, right into Darren’s crotch, and it’s the only satisfying moment in this entire fight, that is, until the moment Bill breaks away from his two attackers and stalks over to Darren, striking him across the face as Richie crows out his glee. But then it resumes to more of the same, holding their own even as they continue to lose spectacularly well.

Eventually Darren and his goons leave, apparently satisfied with their damage. They kick at Richie’s chest one last time, causing him to curl in on himself more, and one boy smears some wet dirt onto Bill’s face before spiting down on him.

Bill groans where he lies, silently cursing Richie and his inability to keep his mouth shut when it really matters. He can feel his eye has begun to swell up, and he’s sure by tomorrow it will be a puffy, black mess. Richie looks worse than Bill feels, and Bill gets up to crawl over towards him. Richie’s eyes are glossy with unshed tears, his nose looks positively bent out of place, and his blood soaked mouth is grinning up him in a display of pure chaotic energy.

“Y-you’re unbelievable,” Bill mutters, cupping Richie’s cheek so he can lightly touch his nose. Richie winces.

“You were so fucking hot when you decked Darren like that, y’know?” Richie says. “Swear I popped a boner right then and there.”

Bill tries not to flush, but around Richie, it was usually impossible. He busies himself by continuously searching Richie’s body for any more damage, and he can feel Richie’s gaze on him the entire time.

“What?” he asks.

“This is a really good excuse to get your hands on me, y’know,” Richie says casually as if he wasn’t in a shit ton of pain from having a broken nose right now. “Billy boy…”

Bill can’t help it when his dick twitches interestedly in his pants. Now really wasn’t the time for this, nor the place, but the least rational part of his mind eventually won out and he wasted no more time in bending over to kiss Richie right on his split lips. 

They both groan, ignoring the pain of it all in favour of pressing closer together. Richie’s scratched up hands have moved down to the buttons of his jeans, popping them open before finding Bill’s to do the same. Bill moans into Richie’s mouth, head dizzy and hands shaking. Were they really going to do this out in the open on the dirty ground of an old tire yard?

When his fly opens up and Richie shoves his hands into Bill’s underwear, he thinks excitedly, _yes, we’re doing this._

Bill swings his leg over so he’s straddling Richie, and Bill prods Richie’s mouth open wider with his tongue. He can feel their blood smear between them, the taste sharp on his taste buds, and Richie’s tongue meets his in the middle, sliding hotly and wetly together, and Bill wants so desperately to fuse their mouths together forever, perfectly content to live the rest of his life like this.

Richie starts to buck up, grinding their still layered dicks together, and a strangled sound escapes around them and Bill has no idea who it was from. Richie pulls back, his face even messier than before, and Bill falls until his face is pressed into the crook of Richie’s neck.

“Fuck, Bill…” Richie breathes. Bill whimpers, their crotches still rocking together tantalizingly slow, building, and Bill moves faster to up the friction. 

“Richie…” Bill grips at the curls at the back of Richie’s neck. Richie moans at the same time he slips his hands under Bill’s jeans to cup his ass, kneading it slowly. Bill tries to breathe through his nose, getting more worked up now, but it soon becomes too much and he releases a slew of curses and whimpers, panting hotly into the shell of Richie’s ear.

“Baby, _c’mon_ , kiss me, c’mon,” Richie urges. Bill kisses up Richie’s jaw until he finds his lips again, and Richie thrusts up at the same time he pulls Bill down, and it’s enough to have Bill break away from how perfectly their dicks rub together.

The combination of the pain from his eye and the full-blown lust he feels from just having Richie’s hands on him like this is enough to finally tip Bill over the edge, cuming right there in his underwear with an equally bloody and bruised Richie lying under him.

“Fuck, Billy—” Richie whimpers, watching him closely. “You’re a fucking hot mess you are, _Jesus Christ_ —”

“Richie, shut the fuck up—” Bill tries his best to help Richie finish. He pulls at Richie’s hair, still rutting their fronts together even as his orgasm threatens to reduce him to a tired mess. It isn’t until Bill leans forward to bite into the skin of Richie’s neck that Richie finally cums as well, his hips jerking underneath him for several seconds before finally resting back down onto the cold, dusty ground.

They lie there panting, Bill mostly still on top of Richie, their underwear becoming increasingly gross and sticky as the blood around their mouths begins to dry up.

“Yowza,” Richie says on an exhale. “Shit, that was…”

“Yeah,” Bill agrees.

As soon as the tingles post-orgasm fade away, there was still the pressing issue of Richie’s nose being broken six ways from Sunday. Bill stands up shakily, his busted up fingers struggling to do his pants up to look at least half presentable. He helps Richie up, and he messily spits out the excess blood from his mouth as Bill goes off to retrieve his glasses.

Richie slides them on and gives Bill a proud smile. “My knight in shining armour,” he says in a rare moment of softness, and leans over to give Bill a lingering kiss.

“Hardly,” Bill frowns through a flush. “We both got our asses kicked.”

Richie shrugs before sliding an arm around Bill’s shoulders. “It’s the thought that counts, baby.”

Together, dirty and broken and sore, they leave, leaning on each other gratefully as they stumble over to their bikes, and Bill has a thought about never needing to be anywhere but here, fitting snugly and safely into Richie’s side.

He squints into the setting sun and smiles.

 

**Author's Note:**

> heck I hope y'all liked this? lemme know your thoughts?? or im over here on [tumblr!](http://edsbrak.tumblr.com/) :D


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